


Waffles and Fistfights

by risingpilots (daredeviltrash), sadieb798



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky will not shut up, Chef Sam Wilson, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Eventual AllCaps, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Polyamory, Sam and Bucky fight, Sexual innuendos, So does Sam, Waffle House, because they're dumb, steve loves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24396568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daredeviltrash/pseuds/risingpilots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieb798/pseuds/sadieb798
Summary: “Bucky,” Gladys acknowledges. “The usual?”“Oh, you know it, Gladys,” Bucky enthuses, a challenging glint in his eye that always appears whenever they come to this Waffle House. “Eggs. Runny. Like a marathon runner.”“Buck,”Steve says, exasperated.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 91





	Waffles and Fistfights

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the [Waffle House reddit.](https://jemgirl86.tumblr.com/post/617906829818724352/i-just-want-someone-to-turn-this-reddit-post-into)
> 
> With thanks to [Nacho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachoDiablo/pseuds/NachoDiablo) for giving this a look over, the Sam Wilson Appreciation discord, and lousnafu for calling us out.

**Waffles and Fistfights**

Steve has been craving waffles all day, and unfortunately, the only breakfast place Bucky will ever go to is that goddamn Waffle House.

“C’mon, Stevie,” Bucky says, smirking like the fucker he is. “You’re not gonna deny yourself _waffles_ , are you?”

Steve scowls because he _won't_ dammit, and he _knows_ Bucky knows that. He doesn't say anything as he follows his boyfriend inside.

They sit by one of the windows overlooking the parking lot, and their regular waitress, Gladys, immediately comes over.

“Boys,” she greets, pulling her pen out of her hair and taking her notepad from the pocket of her apron.

“Hi, Gladys,” Steve says, giving her a smile and reaching for a menu from the stash by the condiments holder. “How’re the grandkids?”

“Running around like little hooligans,” she replies with a careless shrug. “What’ll you have?”

“I’m torn between the pecan and the chocolate chip waffles,” Steve admits, skimming the menu. After a minute of contemplation, he gives up with a sigh. “I’ll take the pecan.”

“Steve, babe, you can get whatever you want,” Bucky reminds him, his eyebrows furrowing together. “We’re doing great, and you’ll burn it all off anyway.”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine.” 

He pointedly ignores the way Bucky's lips turn down in a frown, but Bucky says nothing.

“Bucky,” Gladys acknowledges, turning to him. Steve watches as her lips quirk up into a smirk. He prays for patience. “The usual?”

“Oh, you _know_ it, Gladys,” Bucky enthuses, a challenging glint in his eye that always appears whenever they come to _this_ Waffle House. “Eggs. _Runny._ Like a marathon runner.”

 _“Buck,”_ Steve says, exasperated. He closes his menu with a snap and puts it back gentler than how he shut it.

“What? A man’s got a right to want his eggs runny,” Bucky defends, folding his arms over his chest. Steve wants to bang his head on the table.

“You got it, hon,” Gladys smiles with a wink and walks off to put in their order.

“Runny eggs are one thing, Barnes,” Steve starts, leaning in close and resting his elbows on the table. “But you getting into a fistfight with the cook _every time_ he gets your damn eggs wrong is another thing.”

Bucky shrugs as he relaxes against the hard-back bench. “That’s on him for not giving me runny eggs,” he sasses.

“I mean it, Buck, this feud you have with the cook is ridiculous, _please_ don’t fight him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and scoffs, his usual reaction whenever Steve tries to talk about this dumbass feud. “You don’t get it, Steve,” he tells him, and leaves it at that.

Steve just sighs and shakes his head, turning back to his coffee.

They talk about this and that for a while: the pages Steve still has to ink for his latest comic project, Bucky’s job translating that vacuum cleaner guide from English to Mandarin. Just shooting the breeze, enjoying each other’s company, when Steve spots Him.

The man in the black Waffle House uniform, nothing special about it, but tied around his waist is a white apron with tiny spots of flour. He has sepia skin and the most beautiful brown eyes Steve had ever seen, making his mouth go dry. His high cheekbones shine whenever he smiles over at the other customers, warmly greeting them.

Suddenly he’s coming over to Steve and Bucky’s table with two plates in his hands: one huge, the other small.

He shoots them both a smile, and it’s hard not to find the gap-tooth charming. Something squirms in Steve’s stomach. _Definitely anxiety,_ he thinks.

“Gentleman,” the cook says with a delightful drawl that Steve _knows_ deep down in his bones is natural. “Your food.”

Steve holds his breath; prays, _begs_ that Bucky’s eggs are runny. The cook sets the small plate down in front of Bucky, and Steve knows his pleads to the universe were a fucking waste of time.

The eggs are fluffy, a pale yellow color with a perfectly innocent green mint leaf on top of them. It’s a pretty dish, but Steve’s stomach falls at their scrambled state. Unfortunately Bucky notices this too, and in Steve’s experience, he’s never been subtle about voicing his displeasure about anything in his whole goddamn life.

“That’s it!” he explodes, scowling up at the cook, his face absolutely murderous. “I’m gonna kill you!” 

Steve can feel the stares they’re getting from the other customers in the Waffle House, and it’s enough that he wants to sink down into the linoleum floor to get out of the situation he’s brought on himself by doing something stupid like craving waffles.

“S’long as I can give this guy his food first,” the cook says dryly and deposits the larger plate in front of Steve.

He blinks down at his food. The pecan waffles like he wanted are there, dusted with a fine bit of powdered sugar, but next to them are two extra perfect pieces of waffle. There are dots of dark brown that are in the bread, and it’s with a start that Steve realizes they’re chocolate chips.

“Here you go,” the cook says, getting Steve’s attention. He snaps his head up from his study of his breakfast to see the cook smirking down at him, his brown eyes twinkling. “I made it with extra love.” 

And he _winks_ at him.

Steve’s cheeks start burning and his heart beats in double-time, a wriggling sensation in the pit of his stomach that feels almost pleasant. 

“Th-thanks,” he croaks and the cook smiles wider at him, warming up Steve’s insides. “Uh, I’m sorry, what's your name again?”

“It’s Sam,” the cook - _Sam_ \- replies. “But you can call me yours.”

Steve never thought that self-combustion was a thing - but today with the way his face heats up in two seconds flat after Sam’s frankly unfair flirt, that’s a theory he’s seriously reconsidering.

There’s a hard _slam_ on the table, and the force is strong enough that it rattles the ketchup, makes the plates jump, and silverware shiver. Steve snaps his head up to his boyfriend - who he had completely forgotten about, and the damn foolish feud he has with the man flirting at him.

“Hey!” Bucky yells. Steve’s startled that his cool eyes are burning, like he’s trying to set Sam on fire. “That’s _my_ boyfriend!” he growls, his lips drawing back into a snarl, showing his teeth.

Sam just _smirks_ at him.

 _He really has no right looking so cute while Bucky’s threatening him,_ Steve can't help thinking as he watches the exchange.

“Aww that’s so sad,” Sam drawls, pouting his lips pityingly, batting his eyes. His eyelashes are so long, Steve’s sure they’re liable to sweep him off his feet if he’s not careful. “He can do better.”

Steve’s mouth drops open in surprise. At the same time, Bucky launches himself at Sam and tackles him onto the polished linoleum floor.

Frozen to the bench seat, Steve watches Sam and Bucky roll around on the ground, torn on who to help. On the one hand, Bucky - his _boyfriend_ \- is causing A Scene in the restaurant, something Steve _specifically_ asked him _not_ to do. On the _other_ hand, there's Sam, who has a weird feud with Bucky and also delivered some really really _good_ pickup lines at Steve.

“I’m gonna kick your ass!” Bucky threatens as he struggles with Sam, who’s giving as good as he’s getting.

“Yeah - right!” Sam grunts, yanking at Bucky’s short-cropped hair. “You’ve been saying that for _months!”_

Steve gives in with an exasperated sigh, and waves Gladys over.

“Can you pack these up, please?” he asks, handing her his plate of waffles.

As she does that, and Steve’s pleased that she’s packing up the pecan _and_ the chocolate waffles, he pulls out a wad of cash from his wallet - enough for their meal and then some - and leaves it on the counter. Then he grabs a napkin from the stash at the table and scribbles his number on the back.

“Can you make sure Sam gets this?” he asks, holding it out to Gladys. 

He fights to function against the blush rising on his cheeks, choosing instead to stare resolutely at her. Gladys, to her credit, says nothing as she takes the napkin. But she _does_ give him a knowing smile that doesn’t help Steve’s blush.

When the food’s packed up, Steve latches onto the back of Bucky’s shirt and pulls him off Sam. Bucky struggles against his hold, an absolutely feral look in his wild eyes, but Steve wraps his other arm around his waist, and holds him tightly.

“I am _so_ sorry,” he says to Sam, who's staring up at them from the ground. 

Sam’s chest is heaving underneath the rumpled Waffle House shirt, his plush lips parted in a pant and his eyes bright from the fight. He looks _unfairly_ attractive after being in a scuffle with Bucky, and Steve has to fight against the images that pop in his head of Bucky and Sam wrestling for completely _different_ reasons.

With that, Steve drags his boyfriend out of the Waffle House and throws him into their truck.

* * *

“We don’t have to go there again,” Steve tells Bucky.

He unlocks the door to their apartment, and holds it open for his boyfriend. Bucky blinks at him, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as he steps inside. 

“What are you talking about?” he asks, rubbing at his jaw where a bruise has started to appear. 

Immediately his confusion clears away, his pale blue eyes wide with realization, and the bastard _smirks_. His gaze heatedly trails Steve’s body, and Steve refuses to acknowledge the lust that’s automatically started pooling down in his stomach because of his boyfriend’s attention.

“That was the best time I've had since last night,” Bucky adds salaciously, giving him a wink.

Steve stares at him, stunned. Flabbergasted, shocked - all those adjectives seem to apply to him at the same time.

“You,” he starts, blinking rapidly, his brain trying to process what Bucky has just said. “You _enjoy_ getting into fistfights with random cooks?” he asks in disbelief.

Bucky gives a shrug, careless, nonchalant. But as Steve keeps watching him, he notices the way his boyfriend’s gray eyes seem to want to look at anything in their apartment _except_ for Steve.

“Not _random_ cooks,” he mumbles, his cheeks taking on a pink dusting. “Just that one.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, almost all the way to the ceiling.

“Oh my _God!”_ he exclaims, throwing his hands up. He honestly can’t believe this is his _life_ ; suddenly Bucky’s actions towards Sam make a _hell_ of a lot more sense. “You have a _crush_ on Sam?”

Bucky blinks at him, his pink mouth opening and closing, doing a pretty damn good impression of a fish.

“Uh, _no,”_ he emphasizes, his nose wrinkling. 

Steve raises an eyebrow at his boyfriend. Bucky blinks again, and Steve can practically _see_ him put the pieces together. 

“At least. Uh. Hm.” Bucky looks out the window, his mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Huh.”

“Did you just realize that now?” Steve asks, putting as much dryness as he can into the question. He can’t believe how dumb his boyfriend is sometimes; Bucky is _so_ lucky he’s adorable.

Bucky turns back to face him, and his lips are a bashful squiggle. “Maybe.”

Steve laughs, a full-bellied one; he can’t believe the sheer _ridiculousness_ of their situation. “Wow, you’re hopeless.” And because he can’t help teasing his boyfriend while he’s like this, smirks at Bucky and adds casually: “Lucky for you, I gave him my number.”

He’s not disappointed; Bucky’s reaction is immediate. His eyes go round and his jaw drops, shocked like he’s been slapped in the face.

“And did you give him _mine?!”_ he demands, moving quickly and getting into Steve’s space.

“No!” he laughs, trying to get away from him.

“Why not?!” Bucky insists, following Steve and not letting an inch get between them.

“Because you always want to fucking _kill him!”_ Steve shouts, his lips turning up into a smile despite himself. Unexpectedly, his phone buzzes in his back pocket, interrupting their playful moment.

He takes a step back and Bucky lets him, immediately stopping. Steve pulls it out and there’s a text that just says _Hey it’s Sam._

“I know that damn smile,” his boyfriend states, and Steve looks up in time to see Bucky making a grab for his phone. Steve immediately transfers it to his other hand. 

“Hand over his number, Rogers, so I can text him mine!” Bucky exclaims, making another grab for the phone. Steve elbows him away, holding just out of Bucky’s reach over his head as his boyfriend gets more into his space.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Steve tells him, even as he watches Bucky stand on his tiptoes to try and touch the phone. “Let me mediate between you two before he shows up at our place ready to fight you.”

Bucky juts his bottom lip out into a pout but stops trying to steal his phone. With a sigh, he falls against Steve, rocking him back on his heels. “But that’s what I _waaannnt,”_ Bucky whines into his chest.

Steve runs a hand through his boyfriend’s short dark hair. “I don’t want a smashed up place, Buck,” he stresses pointedly.

Bucky, the jerk, just groans at him and pushes him away. “You’re no fun,” he grunts, walking away and Steve laughs.

He watches him leave for the hallway, and turns his attention back to his phone.

 _Hey Sam, wanna go on a date with me?_ He sends back.

“Rogers, get your flat ass in here!” Bucky yells from their bedroom.

Steve chuckles, pocketing his phone even when he feels the answering buzz of a text. “Comin’ hon,” he calls back, already stripping off his shirt and the beginnings of a plan forming in his head.

* * *

Diana's Palace has always been Steve's and Bucky's go to place for date night.

The restaurant is small and cozy with dim lighting, checkerboard tablecloths, and small dining tables for four. These things felt like home to them and Steve decided to invite Sam into that home for the first time. 

Speaking of Sam, he looks stunning tonight. His beard freshly trimmed, dressed in khakis and a dark blue button up that compliments his dark brown eyes while a watch with leather straps adorns his left wrist.

Steve smiles at the sight of him, nervous butterflies exploding in his chest and he tries not to shuffle from foot to foot. He _knows_ he looks good, Bucky has _told_ him how hot he looks in this outfit: a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark blue jeans and black shoes.

But somehow seeing Sam has him feeling so underdressed, like he’s in the presence of a prince.

“H-Hey,” he greets, the words stumbling out of his mouth.

"Hi," Sam responds. He looks Steve up and down. "You look good."

A blush creeps its way up across Steve’s cheeks and it takes everything in him to maintain eye contact. “Thanks,” he says, giving him a smirk. “So do you.”

Sam smiles and Steve’s nerves disappear.

The dinner is great, as it usually is whenever Steve goes to Diana’s. The conversation flows easily between him and Sam, and Steve gives himself several congratulatory pats on the back every time he manages to make Sam laugh. It’s intimate here between them, with the candles on the table and the low light; everything’s perfect.

Or it _would_ be, if the staff wasn’t acting so _weird_ towards Steve.

And it _is_ towards him: he’s been watching carefully, and Sam’s been spared. Their waiter, Mike, who’s usually friendly and laughs all the time with Bucky, gives Steve nasty looks. The others ignore him when he waves a greeting at them, and when their food comes, the extra waiters slam the plates down onto the table hard enough to rattle their drinks. But when it comes to Sam, everyone’s nice and professional. It’s almost like the waiters have a personal vendetta against Steve, but he can’t think of anything that he’s done to inflict their passive-aggressive behavior.

It’s fine though. He can ignore it in favor of looking across the table at Sam, and getting caught up in the warmth of his eyes and his sunny smile, and it’s all worth it.

Of course that’s when Bucky arrives at the restaurant, spots them and starts walking towards their table _._

Steve watches, openly _stares_ , at his boyfriend as he struts towards them like a model on a catwalk. He can’t deny Bucky looks smoking fucking _hot:_ dressed in his dark jeans, black boots and leather motorcycle jacket. His short hair is carefully sculpted back, proving that motorcycle helmet hair is for losers, and his beard is shaved down to a shadow along his jaw and cheeks.

“Heya Stevie,” Bucky says, standing at Steve's elbow. 

He glances at Sam, and Steve watches his eyes trail up and down his date, not sizing him up but _appraising_ him.

“Sam,” Bucky adds with a flirtatious smirk.

Sam just lifts an eyebrow and a quirk appears at one corner of his lips. Steve frowns and crinkles his eyebrows at his boyfriend. Bucky takes a chair from the empty table next to them, pulls it up to their table, and straddles it backwards, his arms draped over the curved back.

Steve stares, flabbergasted as Bucky waves down their waiter. “Hey, Mikey, can I get my usual?” he asks and Mike gives him a nod. “Thanks.” 

Once he’s out of earshot, though, Bucky turns to face Steve and levels a flat look at him. 

“What the fuck, Steve,” he growls, eyes flashing.

Instinctively, Steve bristles defensively and scowls at his idiot boyfriend. “What the fuck do you mean _what the fuck?”_

“You went to meet the cook guy _without_ me?” Bucky asks, betrayed. 

Steve opens his mouth to retort that he _told_ Bucky he was going out with Sam tonight and it’s not his fault if he wasn’t listening - but the big faker turns around to Sam, casually rests his other arm on the table and delivers the best smirk and half-lidded eye combination Steve knows he has in his arsenal.

“Hi,” Bucky introduces, smooth as anything. “Bucky Barnes. I'm a Pisces, and I'm _way_ more interesting than this stick in the mud.”

Sam just cocks his head to the side and raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “The cook guy? Really?” he asks.

Steve manages to turn his laugh into a cough at the last minute, but it goes unnoticed: Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of Sam for one _second._

“Well, I _was_ planning on getting to know you better,” Bucky explains, Steve watching as he seems to ooze confidence. “But this asshole - ” and he points an accusing finger at Steve “ - won't let me talk to you. Something about you activating my ‘fight response’. Can you believe this guy?"

“Really?” Sam asks, batting his eyes innocently and it is _way_ too early for Steve to be taken with him. “Can’t imagine why.” He holds out a hand for Bucky, and flashes him a sharp smile. “Sam Wilson. Virgo.” 

“I’m a Cancer in case anyone was wondering,” Steve interjects, crossing his arms. He’s not really surprised when he’s ignored.

“I also studied at Le Cordon Bleu,” Sam continues, staring right back at Bucky. 

Steve’s eyebrows raise of their accord, and when he looks over at his boyfriend, Bucky looks just as surprised as he is.

“And you work at a _Waffle House?”_ Bucky asks in disbelief, his lips look like they’re fighting against a smile, and Steve gets it. If Bucky’s as half as impressed with Sam as he is, it wouldn’t be good for Sam to think Bucky’s laughing at him. 

But thankfully Sam just shrugs nonchalantly. “Trying to build up my resume.”

“That’s hot,” Bucky tells him, practically purring at Sam.

“Am I invisible here?” Steve grumbles.

At that moment Mike comes back to their table, carrying Bucky’s plate.

“Here ya go, Bucky,” he says, all pleasant smiles, putting it down on the table _gently_ like it’s the Queen’s most precious China. “Don’t worry about the bill, it’s on the house.”

“Hey, thanks, Mikey, you’re awesome,” replies Bucky, giving him a quick grateful smirk and turning to his food.

“Hey, Mike, can you bring me something strong and alcoholic?” Steve asks, his lips turning up into a smile that feels tight and desperate.

The change is immediate: Mike’s smile drops and he stares down at Steve like he’s dogshit on his shoe. 

“Sorry, _sir,”_ he retorts, his voice as frosty as an icy tundra. “We're out of all alcohol.”

“Damn,” Bucky says, his mouth a disappointed grimace as he chews his food. “That’s a shame, I really wanted a beer.”

“I think we might have some in the back,” replies Mike, back to being friendly.

“What?” Steve asks, confused.

“Is there a way I can get a top off?” Sam asks, raising his near-empty gin and tonic.

“Of course, sir,” says Mike, all smiles as he walks off. Steve frowns after him. _Apparently I’m still getting the cold shoulder,_ he thinks.

Steve nudges Bucky’s arm and drops his voice down to a whisper. “Hey, Buck, when you get your beer, lemme have some. Mike’s been acting weird towards me all night.”

“Sorry, Steve,” Bucky responds, pointedly ignoring him. “Whatever you did to Mike, that’s on you.”

Steve frowns, dejected. Sure enough when Mike comes back, he has a second gin and tonic for Sam, a beer for Bucky, and water for Steve. _Room temperature water._

“You want some of this, Steve?” Sam asks after Mike leaves. He holds his drink out to Steve, an eyebrow raised invitingly. “I promise I’m clean.”

Steve wants to ask how recently Sam got tested, curious on how that response was on the tip of his tongue, but decides against it. _That’s a question for later,_ he reasons, nodding at Sam. As he takes the drink from Sam’s hand, his fingers brush against his and a shiver goes down his spine at the contact.

“Thanks,” he says simply.

Despite Sam and him already having finished their meals, they remain seated while Bucky eats with gusto. Steve figures once his boyfriend’s done, he can throw Bucky’s bike into the bed of their truck and they can drive home together. Steve’s pleasantly surprised when the conversation he and Sam had doesn’t lose its flow at all with Bucky there. Instead, it _thrives_ and grows stronger. Bucky’s still giving Steve something of a silent treatment, but despite that, the atmosphere between the three of them feels natural.

It feels almost like they’ve known each other for years, and that this is a normal thing for the three of them to do. It’s nice.

As time goes on, even the demeanor of the _staff_ starts to change: instead of being frosty, their attitude towards Steve thaws. Waitstaff that he tried to wave a greeting at come over and talk to him, Simone brings him ice water, and when he clears Bucky’s plate, Mike gently sets down a delicately decorated tiramisu - his and Bucky’s go-to dessert - with _three_ spoons.

The best thing though is whenever Bucky asks Sam a question, instead of answering, he redirects it back to Steve. It’s even funnier when Bucky finally catches on.

“Did you just ignore me?” he asks, his eyebrows scrunched together in bewilderment and Steve can’t help but laugh.

“Sorry about him,” he says to Sam, resting a hand on Bucky’s elbow to let him know he’s teasing. “He gets jealous easily.”

Sam chuckles, adorable crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes, and his gap flashing at him and Bucky both, making Steve’s heart swoop like a bird. 

“It’s okay,” Sam says, his eyes dark and heated with undeniable interest. “It's kinda cute.”

 _Holy hell._ Steve’s throat dries up like a desert and he has to reach for his drink. His face heats, practically making the ice in his drink evaporate with how hot it is.

Bucky on the other hand - who Steve _knows_ flirts like he breathes - visibly brightens at the challenge and his whole demeanor changes. 

“Oh, really?” he purrs, batting his eyes at Sam, his body language slinky and loose. “Wait until you see my jealousy in - ”

“SO!” Steve interrupts loudly before Bucky has a chance to finish that _completely_ inappropriate innuendo. When he realizes that his outburst drew more than a few curious glances their way, he flushes and clears his throat. 

“You said you studied at Le Cordon Bleu?” he asks, making sure the volume of his voice is more suitable for indoors. 

Sam and Bucky are looking at him with matching raised eyebrows. Only Bucky’s is more raised in amusement and his lips are twisted into a knowing smirk, while Sam looks pleasantly confused, but not at all like he’s about to bolt. Steve resists the urge to squirm in his seat.

“Yeah,” Sam says instead, setting his drink down and giving Steve his full attention. “My dad was the best cook in my family, and he got me into it. When he died, I wanted to keep learning.”

Steve blinks, can’t help but be mystified by this man. _He's a Disney prince,_ he can’t help thinking, absurdly reminded of Tiana. 

“Where are you from?” he asks instead, leaning closer in interest. He will _not_ admit he’s hoping that Sam will say he’s originally from NOLA. “I could hear a little bit of an accent but I can’t place it.”

“Stevie’s got a thing for accents,” Bucky teases, knocking his elbow into Steve’s arm. “Loves ‘em.”

“I do _not_ have a thing,” Steve pointedly corrects, but his face belies his words when he feels his cheeks go up in flames. “I’m just...fascinated by them.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky replies, his smile a little _too_ knowing. He turns back to Sam, the smile on his face turning into a flirtatious smirk. “You know, I'm an ass man, and Steve's an accent man,” he tells Sam.

 _“Bucky,”_ Steve reprimands, embarrassed as he makes a grab for his water.

“Well, it's a good thing I have both of those things,” Sam replies saucily, his mouth a lopsided smile and his eyes sparkling.

Steve chokes on his drink, sputtering and coughing while next to him, Bucky - who is a _jerk,_ and no help to him whatsoever - doubles over laughing.

Sam, on the other hand, straightens up in his chair. “You okay?” he asks, concerned, not fussing but watching Steve carefully in case he needs the Heimlich.

“I’m fine,” Steve manages, his throat strangled. Sam nods, and lets Steve sort himself out while Bucky nearly collapses again.

“To answer your question,” Sam finally says once Steve and Bucky recover, “New Orleans.”

 _I fucking knew it,_ Steve cheers internally, pleased with himself.

“You'll have to show us around some time,” Bucky pipes up as he sets his beer bottle down on the table with a soft _thunk._ “I'd love to give you some beads,” he says to Sam, his eyebrows waggling suggestively.

Steve closes his eyes, counting backwards from ten, and resisting the urge to facepalm. _Sam’s gonna bolt,_ he’s sure, _Sam’s gonna bolt and Bucky and I are gonna have to find another fucking Waffle House._

But surprisingly Sam just smirks and leans closer towards Bucky, leaving no room for air between them.

“That depends on if Steve's willing to flash people too,” he replies in a low voice that’s as dark and rich as honey.

Two sets of eyes flick over at Steve, one pale blue and the other a dark brown. Both follow the trail of buttons on his shirt from the column of his throat, down to where the table hides the rest of him. The intensity of their gaze is enough to set Steve on fire and if this is only at dinner - in a _public place_ \- he can’t imagine what it would be like when they're alone.

Steve coughs, the collar of his shirt feels tighter for some reason. “Um,” he tries, takes a sip of his drink and tries again. “Maybe. If that's what...you want?” He winces. _God that was dumb._

Bucky faux gasps, a scandalized hand flying up to his chest and it stays there, splayed. His eyes grow wide and he blinks rapidly, his mouth agape.

“Steven Grant _Rogers!"_ he says loudly.

Steve scowls at him. “Shaddup Buck,” he mutters.

“He's usually not like this,” Bucky explains to Sam, who’s been watching them in amusement. “I'm sorry about him.”

“Nah, that was cute,” Sam replies, smiling softly. “So, how long have y'all known each other?” He asks, reaching for a spoon and taking a bite of the tiramisu. 

Which Steve had completely forgotten about.

“Our entire lives,” Bucky explains, picking up his own spoon and following Sam’s lead. “Steve and I were neighbors and grew up together.”

“We spent almost every minute together,” Steve agrees, and grabs the last spoon for his own bite.

Sam’s right eyebrow quirks upwards. “Oh?” he asks, casually. “So are there pictures of your awkward teen years?” He sticks the spoon of tiramisu into his mouth, letting it linger in his mouth suggestively.

Steve suddenly has a flashback of his high school years: being too small, too scrawny, always shoved into a locker, or a trunk of a car, always getting into fights. Not good enough for any of the guys he found attractive, and _definitely_ not good enough for Bucky, who deserved the best.

“No,” Steve says quickly.

“Yes,” Bucky says just as fast, raising an eyebrow at Steve and then turning back to Sam. “We have an album back at our place.”

“Bucky, are you inviting me over to look at your etchings?” Sam teases, his eyes twinkling. He takes another bite of the tiramisu, and moans around the spoon.

A ball of heat starts to pool in the pit of Steve’s stomach and his heart picks up the pace, a staccato rhythm in his chest.

“One hundred percent,” Bucky enthuses, nodding and Steve's pleased to see a pinkness appearing on his boyfriend's cheeks. _Seems I’m not the only one affected by Sam’s flirting,_ Steve thinks with a smile.

But then Bucky blinks and rolls his eyes like he just realized something, and flicks a smile in Steve's direction. “Well, _Stevie_ here is the artist,” he explains. “I'm sure he'll let you look at 'em.”

Steve shrugs. Showing Sam his portfolio is a much better alternative to showing him old pictures, and he'll take that option any day. “Yeah, I could draw you like one of those French girls,” he replies.

Bucky stares at him, shock clearly written on his face. Sam raises an eyebrow, his expression one of pure delight.

All at once the full implication of Steve’s words hits him like a train. His face bursts into flames; it's so bad, he can feel his _ears_ burning and the back of his neck turning red.

“I MEAN!!!” he sputters, floundering for an excuse like a fish on dry land.

“I would be down with that,” Sam replies quickly, his voice dark and sultry. 

When Steve blinks at him, stunned, Sam _winks_.

A part of Steve is getting really tired of blushing so much on this date. But another, larger part of him wants to encourage the ember of warmth that’s been growing inside his chest.

* * *

“Here you go,” Sam says, coming in from the kitchen.

Steve glances up from his sketchbook, watches as his boyfriend sets a plate pointedly down next to Bucky’s laptop.

“What’s that?” asks Bucky, his forehead furrowed in concentration.

Behind his delicate glasses, Bucky's pale blue eyes scan the document he’s working on, and his fingers fly on his laptop's keyboard. Steve loves his boyfriend, and is glad Bucky gets to make his own hours and choose his projects, but he hates how he gets tunnel vision when he works.

He’s been spending a few weeks working on this particular project, translating a tricky guidebook from Spanish to Mandarin _and_ Russian simultaneously. Because of it, Bucky hasn’t really slept or eaten in _days;_ the only time Sam and Steve see their boyfriend is when they pass through the dining room.

It’s something Steve’s used to at this point in their relationship. However, Sam’s new to this, and has expressed how worried he is about Bucky many times to Steve while they’re curled up in bed.

But now? He doesn’t even look phased. His arms are crossed lazily over his chest, his stance totally relaxed as he stands next to Bucky, brown eyes half-lidded and a smug smirk on his face.

“Oh, that?” Sam says, surprised, like he just noticed it. He flicks his gaze up to meet Steve’s, and his eyes are bright with humor. Steve feels a corner of his mouth tick up in an automatic smile and he raises a curious eyebrow.

“Thought you’d be hungry,” continues Sam, and he points down at the plate. “So I made you some eggs.”

Bucky’s fingers immediately still. 

Steve watches - bites his lower lip to keep from laughing - as Bucky’s eyes snap to the plate and stay there. On the plate are three of the most perfect runny eggs that Steve has ever seen. The yolks are golden yellow, the whites firm but not rubbery, and just a sprinkling of pepper on top, and a dash of hot sauce on the side.

Steve holds his breath as Bucky stares down at them. For a whole minute - and Steve knows it’s been a minute because he’s timing it - their dumb boyfriend doesn’t say anything.

Slowly Bucky removes his glasses and sets them aside.

“What. Are. Those?” he asks in a clipped tone, his hands curled into fists and his jaw clenched.

“Well, Buck, I may not be an expert,” Steve remarks thoughtfully, adds in a chin stroke for good measure. “But those look like runny eggs to me. Is that right, sweetheart?” he asks, looking to Sam.

“You’re absolutely right, baby,” Sam confirms with a nod. His eyes, if possible, get brighter and his smile becomes a shit-eating grin. “Those are my best runny eggs. _The runniest.”_

 _“You goddamn fucker!”_ Bucky roars, pushing away from the table and launching himself at Sam. They land in a pile on the floor, Sam laughing the entire time Bucky’s slapping at his chest, wriggling on top of him. “You knew how to make runny eggs this entire time?! And you never let me have any??!”

“Dude, of _course_ I do!” Sam exclaims, gaining the upper hand by using his legs to straddle Bucky's lap. “I studied at _Le Cordon Bleu_ for fuck’s sake, Barnes!”

“Sam, you’re gonna have to use that move on me later tonight,” Steve says conversationally, throwing his boyfriend a smirk.

Sam glances at him over his shoulder, his eyes heated and a corner of his lips quirked upwards. Steve's heart races and his toes curl in his shoes.

“I don’t care _where_ you studied!” Bucky yells, pinching Sam’s sides. Sam yelps and from there, Bucky easily slides him off his lap and smoothly onto the floor by his side. “I’m gonna kick your ass!”

“ _Please_ stop making promises you can’t keep!” Sam replies, rolling his eyes, and kicks at Bucky’s shins.

Steve watches fondly as his boyfriends play-wrestle, enjoying his perfect cup of coffee.


End file.
